The Golden Phoenix
by Crecendo
Summary: Harry is entering his 6th year, and as teenagers train and teachers flirt, Harry discovers he has an Animagus form and other hidden talents. Meanwhile, Voldemort prepares a devastating attack whose battle will be the hinge on which the future swings.
1. Chapter 1

Right... this is my first HP fic, so don't flame to violently! This takes place after OotP, and is pre-HBP, because I absolutely have _no_ ability to write angst, and anything after HBP would have to contain angst! The new DADA professor is Snape, a) because I think the poor guy deserves it, and b) I despise Slughorn as being a completely self-important power seeker who annoys the heck out of me...

Pairings:

HP/CC (briefly), HP/PPatil, and eventually HP/GW

GW/DT, GW/SF, and then HP/GW

RW/LB, and eventually RW/HG

HG/VK, HG/Roger Davis, and then HG/RW

CC/HP, and then CC/DM

FFlitwick/MMcGonagall

SSnape/OC ( Christine Collum, the new Potions Master...)

'...' -thoughts

"..." -dialogue

_Italicized _–emphasis

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**Prologue**

Harry James Potter sat back frustratedly, running a hand through his inky, permanently rumpled hair. His bright green eyes were narrowed in annoyance as he tried to understand _how on earth_ using a young willow branch instead of a mature one in a flexibility potion could make the potion three times as strong.

His fingers, as wiry and strong as the rest of him after nearly two months of intensive magical and physical training, snapped together as he got the concept.

'Of course,' he thought, grinning to himself in delight. 'Taking into account Salmot's Second Law of Relative Aging, the younger willow wouldn't have the more wooden qualities of the older branches, while at the same time, it would add it's own growing potential to the potion's strength.'

Yes, Harry Potter had been working hard since the Incident at the Ministry in late May1. Sirius's death had thrown the young wizard into an upheaval of grief and pain, and as he had begun to recover, he had realized just how badly he needed to prepare for the coming years.

Admittedly, he had a natural talent for DADA and Transfiguration, and he was beginning to realize that his Potions and Charms skills were nothing to sneer at, but none of this replaced the need for Harry to focus a little and put in some good, hard work.

Much though he would like to shrug off his responsibilities and obligations, Harry knew that people all over the Wizarding World were counting on him. Heck, even Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore himselfwere counting on him! And, truth be told, (although Harry had a hard time admitting this even to himself) something inside him desperately wanted to pay retribution in full to Voldemort and the Death Eaters who had been doing their very best to ensure his life was a living hell. He wanted revenge for his parents, Sirius, and the countless lives that had been lost in the First War.

So, Harry had thrown himself into training this summer, resolved to sharpen and improve everything about himself that he could. He had decided to start from the beginning, figuring that he had probably missed a lot while talking to Ron and sleeping (in History of Magic's case). Boy, had he been _right_.

The soon-to-be-sixteen year old grinned ruefully as he remembered what a struggle it had been at first, trying to review all his course materials from the first year up. Unfortunately, it was only as he began to review third year Herbology that he realized that maybe he should try some of those speed-reading and comprehension spells 'Mione was always going on about. He had smacked his head on his worn, second-hand desk repeatedly.

Casting these spells on himself was his first attempt at wandless, or 'anonymous' (as some wizards called it, because it was utterly impossible to trace. i.e., the Ministry couldn't pin him for underage magic), magic.

He had been very nervous, knowing that the consequences of this going wrong were, at best, being unable to do anything but babble for days, and at worst, ending up in Saint Mungo's Permanently Spell Damaged ward. In the end, though, Harry had decided it was worth the risk. It would take him the rest of the summer just to _review_ at this rate.

So, after sending a few prayers to whoever might be listening, Harry made his first attempts at a kind of magic that had blown other wizard's brains out.

The casting had left him weak and dizzy for a few hours, but it had worked! The ecstatic young wizard had danced around his room singing "We Are the Champions" very loudly and off-key until Uncle Vernon had come shouting at him to "Shut the hell up," Petunia was making a soufflé.

Harry had quieted down soon afterwards, and settled down, still beaming, to read through his Herbology textbook (_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Grade Three_, by Phyllida Spore) at nearly twenty times the previous rate.

He had finished reading through his course materials up 'till graduation on Friday, July 13th. He had marked the day on his dusty calendar by making it flash rainbow colors and sing 'School's Out for Summer' by Alice Cooper (he felt that a) this song was appropriate to the occasion, and b) he was hyper on a combination of caffeine and relief from the all-nighters at the time), which he charmed to quiet down if the Dursleys approached his room.

'And they say Friday the 13th is unlucky,' he had thought smugly.

Then, he had moved on to more advanced magic, and in-depth studies of the theory behind everything, now knowing that the theory _definitely_ made a difference to the power of the spells he cast (just think of a wandlessly-cast super-powered cheering charm put on Vernon and Petunia Dursley).

Also, knowing the theory meant he could manipulate and change spell's effects by adding a syllable here and a suffix there to suit his needs. At this point, Harry knew as much as a junior-level Auror, although whether or not he could actually _cast_ the spells was a mystery. He could only cast five or six wandless spells a day without completely exhausting himself, so he hadn't managed to test out his abilities thoroughly yet. Harry knew he had to improve physically as well.

So, starting in early June (after the earth-shattering realization he had trouble lifting a fifty-pound weight) Harry's daily schedule began to look something like this:

5:00 a.m. - Rise, dress in work-out clothes, go running

6:00 a.m. – Do two hundred sit-ups, one hundred and fifty push-ups, and various other strenuous exercises designed to strengthen (not bulk up) muscles and increase his heart rate

7:30 a.m. – Change (and shower!), go downstairs, and cook breakfast for himself and the Dursleys

8:30 a.m. – Go upstairs and study History of Magic, Herbology, and Ancient Runes (for good measure)

12:00 p.m. – Cook and eat lunch with the Dursleys

1:00 p.m. – Study DADA, Potions, Charms, and Arithmancy (he had decided to see what all of 'Mione's fuss about it was, and had actually found it really interesting. It was the study of Divination by numbers, and infinitely more accurate than Trelawney's ... somewhat dubious methods.)

5:00 p.m. – Cook and eat dinner with the Dursleys

7:00 p.m. – Practice wandless magic until completely exhausted

9:00 p.m. – Force himself through a few more sit-ups and push-ups

10:00 p.m. – Change and go to bed (or, in most cases, try to force himself to memorize 'just one more' page of any and many subjects)

Needless to say, Harry was pretty tired. On the upside, though, with all the extra freedom the Dursleys had been giving him since- er- 'encountering' the Order members at King's Cross, the Boy-Who-Lived was a little over 5'11", tall, lean, muscular, and tan from all his work outdoors. His hair was also a few inches longer, meaning it had less the appearance of a whacked-off bush and looked more rumpled and windblown.

These changes, combined with his newly revealed sparkling emerald eyes (Moody had taken it upon himself to provide him with an everlasting pair of wizarding contacts that would give him night vision) made Harry a formidably handsome young wizard with the power of one of the elite Dark-Wizard catchers, set to put Hogwarts on it's ear this year and prove that he was (or would be) ready to battle and defeat the most powerful and evil wizard since the dawn of time (i.e., Voldemort).

Although Harry hadn't had much time to notice the changes in himself, even he suspected that Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley's would be surprised when he went to the Burrow for his sixteenth birthday (Ron had promised to invite him soon, and Harry was even considering asking him if he could come a week or two early). He had no idea how accurate this prediction was going to be, even with the useful assistance of Arithmancy...

**-End Prologue-**

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1- In this fic, the school year goes from September 1st thru May 31st, and I'm claiming artistic license!

A/N: Well, I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! I have a policy of free updates for the first few chapters, but after those I will need REVIEWS to update! grins evilly

SO, everyone should R/R! It's not completely necessary, but I swear, I LIVE on encouragement from reviewers! It's you guys that make this whole thing worth it, really...

Now, press the lil purple button... come on, _you know you want to_... please?


	2. A Very Weasley Birthday

Alright, guys, chap 1 is UP! (sorry it's so late, I was out of town without access to my files:() So, here Harry gets to the Burrow, and had several 'surprises' in store for him evil chuckle. I hope you guys like it!

I found this great website with lots of sketches of different HP characters. I will put the link on my prof, but here it is also (with spaces, of course!):

http:// www. minstrelbook. net/ hpbook/ hpsketch. Htm

Oh, and since I forgot in the prologue...

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not, have not, and shall not ever posses so much as an iota of the rights to Harry Potter... that's JKR's thing. && (that's a face with little tears running down it, if you can't tell)

"..." –dialogue

'...' –thoughts

_Italicized_ –emphasis, or in dialogue, spells

**Chapter One- A Very Weasley Birthday:**

"Mum! Mum, remember when you said Harry could visit us for his birthday?" Ron Weasley shouted, sprinting down the stairs of his rickety, eight-floor house, a roll of parchment clutched in his hand.

"Yes, dear, of course, why?" Molly Weasley, reigning matriarch of the Weasley clan, inquired, turning from the stove. "Did he write?"

"Yeah and he asked if it would be okay for him to come about a week early, say, the twenty-second. I owled him back saying yah, of course. Er... is that alright?" He asked apprehensively, fearing a famed Weasley Explosion.

Fortunately, none was forthcoming.

"Why, of _course_ he can, the little dear!" Mrs. Weasley beamed, maternally. "Poor thing, he's probably being neglected by those horrible relatives again. I wonder if he needs clothes. You have some that you've outgrown, don't you, Ronald? They should fit Harry perfectly, especially since he's so underfed and small. (Ron stifled a snort, picturing Harry eating his way through piles of mashed potatoes at the end-of-the-year feast. He _was_ awfully skinny, though.) I was thinking of your maroon shirt with the broom on it, and perhaps the-"

It was here that Ron decided to cut his mother off. "Mum! Actually, he said he just missed us all, and since Hermione was getting here early too, he figured it would be alright. Now, I gotta, um, go... feed Pig! He's been looking smaller than usual lately..." And with the word _lately_, Ron turned and dashed up the stairs, which he had been steadily inching towards.

Mrs. Weasley smiled a little ruefully as she turned back towards the pot roast, which was, tragically enough, fated to end its life at the hands (or stomach, rather) of the Weasley males.

Since she had blown up so... _dramatically_ at Ron and the twins at the beginning of their second year, she had noticed them behaving more warily and respectfully when she was within a hundred-yard radius. Granted, it was a little difficult to tell with Fred and George, but a 'motherly instinct' (i.e. sneaking into their room to say goodnight, only to hear: "Mum... please, no more yelling... I'll even tell Ron about the firewhiskey we put into his toothpaste... _please_..." at this point she had snuck back out, wearing a satisfied smirk.) told her that they were more nervous than they let on.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Ron finished tying off his letter to Pigwidgeon's leg and leaned forward, tossing the tiny, unsuspecting owl out the window. Pig plummeted a few feet, but managed to pull himself up before beginning to flap off in the general direction of Number 4, Privet Drive.

(this little symbol thingy represents a scene change!)

Harry let out a growl of frustration, trying for the umpteenth time to get the _damn books_ to go in the _damn trunk _with the _damn auto-pack charm_. He kicked his desk, albeit quietly, and immediately let out a few choice words as he hopped up and down, holding his foot.

He had been trying for a good ten minutes now to get this wandless auto-pack charm to work. The (as far as Harry was concerned) ultimate guide to wandless magic, _How to Flabberstag Your Friends and Flummox Your Foes: A Guide to Wandless Magic_, was doing absolutely _nothing _to help, as it dealt mostly with either showy, impressive spells (things like suddenly changing your appearance or your surroundings, or very visible hexes, such as the Bat-Bogey Hex, which Harry had seen used to _very_ good effect by Ginny last year) or battle magi (includes defensive and offensive spellwork). Nothing whatsoever was in there about nice, useful thinks like packing.

Resolving to try one last time, he closed his eyes, and, reaching down to his magical core- this was how you used wandless spells; you had to reach down to your magical core, draw out a thread (or rope) of magical energy, and force it to flow out of you in a controlled stream. This in itself was difficult, but casting spells wordlessly as well was nearly impossible. Harry knew Dumbledore could do it, and he strongly suspected Voldemort could, but he didn't know anyone else who could, or even came close, for that matter-, he drew out a strand of magic, guided it out of his right index finger, muttering "_convaso_" as he did so.

Opening one eye, he peeked down toward where his spellbooks had been just moments before, knowing even before he saw the proof that they were gone. He had learned to pinpoint the exact feeling of a successfully cast wandless incantation, having had too many failures to count.

'YES!' he thought, 'Finally! Now, Ron said they would send someone to pick me up... I wonder when they'll get here?"

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a loud CRASH from downstairs, followed by a "Bloody Hell! Get out of my house, you damn freaks!"

Then, as Harry was dragging his trunk out of his bedroom, he heard:

"Sorry, no can do, sir. You see..."

"We're here to pick up Harry! So..."

"Until we have him, we're..."

"Not going anywhere! Unless, of course..."

"You'd be so kind as to tell us..."

"Where he might be?" this last was spoken in stereo.

Harry grinned. Fred and George were here! He had heard from Ron that their joke shop was doing well, and they had even written him a few times. He renewed his trunk-dragging efforts, and was pulling it down the stairs (punctuated by each step making a sort of annoyed _thunk!_ as it was hit) when the twins appeared at the base of the steps.

The twins gave low whistles in unison, eyebrows raised. "What have the muggles been feeding you, old bean?" Fred demanded, only half joking, as George nodded in agreement.

"Seriously, though, you're looking positively stupendous! Just wait 'till the girls at Hogwarts get a load of you!" George added in.

"Quite," finished Fred, still surprised. The twins shook their heads, and said together, "Let's try that again, shall we?"

"Ah... Harry, a pleasure to see you again, good sir..." Began Fred, only to be interrupted by George, "... We are to be your escorts today!"

"Allow me to take your trunk, my good man!" And, with a twitch of Fred's wand, the trunk soared out of Harry's hands and into the living from, where he heard angry bellows (Vernon), frightened whimpers (Dudley), and shrill, annoying shrieks (no doubt of Petunia's creation).

Harry and the twins followed the trunk (the twins still sneaking wide-eyed glances at a smirking Harry), which had settled comfortably into the fireplace (the Dursleys had left it unblocked after the last Flooing fiasco). George took out a small package of Floo powder and handed it off to Fred, taking a small pinch for himself. He stepped into the grate, grabbed a hold of Harry's trunk, and threw down the powder with a shout of, "The Burrow!" He was gone in a twisting furl of green flame.

Fred followed, handing the packet of powder to Harry after having taken some for himself. He stepped in, and with a cry of, "The Burrow!" he too was gone.

Harry turned towards the shell-shocked Dursleys, and gave them a grin and a wave before he, too, disappeared into the Wizarding world.

Harry tumbled ungracefully out of the fireplace and ended up sprawled on the thick, furry rug that made up the floor of the Burrow's living room. He sat up, grimacing and rubbing his nose.

'At least there were no glasses for me to break this time,' he thought ruefully, remembering certain past trips by Floo powder. As he glanced around, he noticed that Ron and Hermione were the only ones present ('Well, at least not _all_ of the Weasleys got to see me looking stupid,' he reflected), as Fred and George had presumably headed off to put his trunk in Ron's room.

Ron strode towards Harry, a grin stretching his thin, freckled face. He offered him a hand up, exclaiming as he did, "Harry! We've missed you, mate! Still, at least you were able to write this summer... ruddy Dursleys." This last part was added in an aggravated undertone.

Harry smiled back, accepting Ron's assistance as he glanced towards Hermione. She was standing stock still, her mouth slightly open as she gazed at Harry. "Oh- _wow_, Harry..." she managed to murmur. He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, and avoiding Ron's suddenly highly annoyed stare.

Hermione seemed to snap out of it, though, if her next words were any indication. "Aaah... what I meant to say was, that is, er-I-it's nice to see you again! Um- what... happened?"

By now, Ron had also noticed the changes in his friend, and was staring too. "Harry, mate, what happened to you? Where are your glasses? And- hey! You're as tall as me!"

Harry noted, with some surprise, that he was indeed on eye-level with Ron. Seeing that his friends required an explanation, he said simply, "Well, I realized that I can't slack off any more. So, this summer, I've been studying a lot and doing physical training as well. But- do I honestly look that different?" he wondered, having not quite noticed the extent of the visible changes in himself.

"Completely!" exclaimed Hermione. "Before you were-er- a little short and skinny, and now you're tall and-um- a little _different_, your hair is a little longer, and your glasses are gone! Wait, why are your glasses gone?" she asked.

"Moody gave me contacts. They're everlasting, and I can see in the dark with them, kind of like night-vision goggles... er-just not green."

"What are knight viz-on God-les?" Ron inquired, confused. Hermione turned to him with a sigh.

"Oh, honestly, Ron, not 'knight viz-on God-les', _night vision goggles_," she said, careful to pronounce each word clearly. "They let you see at night or in dark places. They use them in the muggle military," she explained.

"Oh."

"_Harry! _It's wonderful to see you again, my dear. Have the muggles been treating you right? Making sure you get enough to eat?"

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, grinning. "Yeah, I'm doing all right."

"That's marvelous, dear. Now, feel free to play with Hermione and the boys, but remember that dinner is at six-thirty! And we're having _chicken_!" With this announcement, she turned and bustled off towards the kitchen.

"Hey, Harry, want to go play quidditch with me, Fred, George, Charlie, Bill, and Ginny?" Ron asked.

"Ginny?" Harry inquired, confused. He knew that while the youngest Weasley was and excellent quidditch player, her brothers didn't usually allow her to play with them.

"Erm- yeah. We didn't want her to, but at the beginning of the summer she started hexing us every time we didn't let her play..." Ron trailed off, shuddering in remembered Bat-Bogeys, no doubt.

Harry smirked- although he suspected he would be more sympathetic if he had ever been on the receiving end of one of Ginny Weasley's famous hexes. He decided not to gloat, though, and merely said, "Well, let's go, since you're obviously so eager to be pounded into the ground!"

He strode off, experiencing a sudden sinking in his stomach when he heard Ron call maliciously after him, "I wouldn't be so sure! Remember, we've got Charlie!" Charlie had been an incredible Gryffindor seeker during his own Hogwarts years.

He, Fred, George, and Ginny ended up winning, albeit narrowly, against Bill, Charlie, and Ron. There had been a slightly awkward moment when Harry and Ginny saw each other.

-_Flashback_-

"And I'm telling you, there's no way the Cannons are going to win the next World Cup! They rely too much on their Chasers, and- Umph!"

This last was caused, not by Harry's conviction that the Cannon's wouldn't win the series, but by a high-speed impact with a flying fury of red hair.

_"Get back here, Bill Weasley! You'll regret ever-_ ouch! Ron, you absolute prat, watch where you're going! Oh... um. You're not Ron. Harry, hi!"

Harry stood, rubbing the back of his head. "Hi, Ginny. How've you been?"

Ginny stared. Harry, looking at her, stared back. Virginia Weasley had certainly grown up, he reflected. She was a few inches taller, and her red-gold hair was longer than ever. She was also wearing a light green t-shirt, casual but still _very_ form-flattering, and white Capri pants with ties at the hems.

Ginny, meanwhile, was reflecting that Harry should have gotten contacts _years_ ago. Also, he was much taller before, and while he hadn't been pasty-skinned before, now he was anything but. His hair had grown a few inches, too, she thought, going from oddly-twisted whorls of hair to long and graceful rumples of it. Overall, she contemplated, it was most definitely an improvement.

They suddenly heard Ron's voice from the Quidditch shed. "Oy! You two! Common, help me inflate these quaffles!"

Both started slightly, and jumped. "Um... good to see you again, Ginny. Hey, what model broom is Charlie riding?" he inquired nervously.

She grinned in relief as the casual topic was introduced. "Don't worry about it, me, Fred, George, and you are going to smash them. He's on the latest Cleansweep." Harry smirked smugly. 'Ron is totally losing that bet', he thought to himself in satisfaction.

-_End Flashback-_

They had moved past it, though, and now went in for some of the aforementioned chicken.

A/N: Okay, I feel that you probably require a warning: I'm not going to be updating as quickly as I would like for the next few chapters, although I am trying to get the plotline moving faster, because I am immersed in one of the _best_ fanfics on the whole site.

It is called the _Sacrifices_ series, and there are 7 installments. The whole thing is by 'Lightning on the Wave', and she has just finished. YAY! It's a rewrite of the whole HP series, and it _rocks_ beyond belief! The titles are:

Saving Connor

No Mouths but Some Serpents

Comes out of Darkness Morn

Freedom and not Peace

Wind that Shakes the Seas and Stars

A Song in Time of Revolution

I am also thy Brother

Be warned: This story is a massive freaking thing, and you will be absolutely unable to stop reading if you start! Here's the ID number, so enjoy! I'm not going to put a summary, 'cause I suck at them and the stories (if you so choose to read them) will absolutely speak for themselves! Here it is for _Saving Connor_: 2580283

Now, children, remember how much mommy (or, in this case, author _who holds updating power_) likes reviews! Remember, and be wise in your decision to press the little purple button... that's all I'm going to say.


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